


Side by Side

by GoodJanet



Category: Late Night Host RPF
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Crying, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romantic Friendship, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8007382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodJanet/pseuds/GoodJanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been over a year, but Stephen still misses having Jon lead him in.</p><p>Dedicated to an Anon on tumblr who gave me the courage to write this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Side by Side

“Everyone _misses_ you, Jon. They want you back,” Stephen says in a hushed tone that Jon thinks just might be enough to shatter his heart.

Jon wraps one hand more tightly around his mug of morning coffee while the other nervously massaged the back of his neck. He barks a laugh.

“Who would even have me?” he asks.

He looks at Stephen with his piercing blue eyes like Stephen had an answer ready. Deep, deep, in the tiny part of his heart that he keeps locked away, Stephen knows he would do anything Jon asked him to do. If Jon asked for him to hand over his show, Stephen knows he would do it. But the fact that he knows Jon would never ask for such a thing is exactly why they were so close to begin with.

“Do I have something on my chin?” Jon asks.

The spell is broken, and Jon is grinning.

“What? No. Why?”

“You were staring at me, Colbert.”

Jon takes a sip from his mug, and Stephen watches him lick the white foam from his stubbly upper lip. Jon looked good with facial hair…

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Jon pats him on the shoulder with a warm palm and a warmer smile.

“It’s okay. The conversation was getting kind of heavy anyway. Why don't we talk about something else.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to come across so strongly.”

Stephen swallows. That would mean it would be months and months before Jon would be alright with him bringing the subject up again. And _that_ would mean more months and months without Jon in front of the cameras, crusading against America’s villains with Stephen at his side. Too many rival stations have gotten too comfortable with themselves in his absence lately, and it makes Stephen’s chest hurt.

“Stephen?”

“Yeah?”

And fuck the hopeful hitch that decide to sneak into his voice. Jon was a big boy. He could make decisions for himself, just like Stephen did. It wasn’t like Jon was ever very far away anyway. Hell, he was sitting across from the man right now.

“You’re staring again, man. What's got you so distracted?"

Stephen hunches over Jon’s kitchen table and rubs his face. He was being stupid. He was being so silly. Stephen grits his teeth over the tears that threaten to spill over.

“I want you back, Jon,” he confesses before he can remember that he’s speaking out loud this time.

If Stephen had been looking up, he might’ve seen the look of patient surprise on Jon’s face. He might’ve seen Jon swallow hard before composing himself enough to feel able to reach out and touch Stephen’s exposed wrist with his gentle hand.

“I’m right here, Stephen.”

Stephen looks up and finally meets Jon’s eyes again. He knows he means it. Stephen always knows when Jon's being sincere.

“I know I’m being a selfish asshole,” Stephen says, “but I honestly have felt like there’s been a stone on my chest since you signed off last year. Things feel off.”

The hand on his wrist tightens.

“Why-why didn’t you talk to me? You know I would’ve talked to you, or-or-or fuck, I would’ve done _something_. Anything to cheer you up!"

“Anything?” Stephen asks, laughing sadly.

“Of course. You know I would. I love you.” Jon has said those words a thousand times before, but somehow hearing them again right now makes the stone start to crumble. “What do you need me to do?”

He looks so concerned, and it makes Stephen feel terrible for thinking it, but he lets the words tumble from his mouth unchecked.

“Would you kiss me?” he asks.

“Kiss you? Stephen, is that a good—?”

“Will you though? Would-would you do it?”

He’s being unfair and childish and demanding, but Stephen knows that if Jon kisses him, then he’ll know Jon won’t leave him for good. If Jon can leave a show after sixteen years, then what’s to say he won’t leave Stephen too? Kisses used to be binding contracts in the olden days. It meant two people couldn’t be separated, even if one them moved away or died…Only he doesn’t want to think about Jon dying because then he’d—

“Oh, Stephen,” Jon says, voice cracking under his own stones in his own chest as he watches the hurt and fear float over Stephen’s features.

Before Stephen knows it, Jon is on his side of the table, and he takes the sides of Stephen’s face between his trembling hands. And even though Stephen is used to being taller than Jon, he’s also used to looking up to him. He searches Jon’s eyes for an explanation, but he gets all the answers he needs when Jon firmly presses their lips together.

And it’s Jon, it’s Jon, it’s Jon, it’s _Jon!_ Stephen’s whole chest feels like it’s going to burst open, but this time it has nothing to do with heavy, jagged rocks. This time, everything feels good and painful and sweet, and everything he would’ve guessed a kiss—a _true_ kiss—from Jon would feel like. It feels like soft lips and tickly whiskers and a warm tongue and the taste of sweet coffee and the press of hands against his sharp cheekbones and thumbs that wipe the tears away when it all gets to be too damn much and the early stirrings of arousal in the pit of his stomach.

Jon pulls away, and Stephen realizes that he’s sobbing oceans all over himself and Jon and the table.

“Shit, it’s been a while since I made someone cry with just a kiss,” Jon jokes, carefully wiping at Stephen’s liquid gold eyes. "That bad, huh?"

He sits down next to Stephen on his chair, and they both fit on the seat if Stephen wraps his arm around Jon and if Jon throws his right leg over Stephen’s left.

“You-you’ve been holding out on me, Stewart,” he says, breathless.

He uses the bottom hemline of his shirt to wipe away the last dew drops from his spiky lashes, and Jon thinks he’s never looked more fucking beautiful.

“I could never hold out on you, Stephen. Never. Not in a million years.”

Stephen rests his head on Jon’s, which was already leaning on Stephen’s shoulder. The pain in his chest is gone.

“I love you too, Jon.”


End file.
